Living Poetry

Living poetry continues to sweep the air around my ears and bring warmth. It's a comfort, a scarf round my neck that isn't too tight. Concentration is a little difficult, but it's okay, because pressure has loosened. Nothing right now has to be perfect. But perhaps that that is a stronger beauty. Is that a little too cliché? Forgive me. I was tired last night, and I'm tired again. But there is this undeniable peace that is coming, closer and closer. It is like an aroma, you can't hold it. But it's there, and it's soft and it's kind, and it's gentle. Muscles may be heavy, but restlessness has been repelled by this aroma, and it's okay. I guess you have to accept it first, and sometimes it's a little bit strange, but it's certainly worth it. 

I can smile without guilt, smile without issuing a burden upon myself. I don't have to fear nor worry nor load myself upon stress.

This special incense can burn forever, but I will probably forget about it sometimes. When I do, you'll notice, but, eventually I'll remember and then it's okay.

I am thinking and thinking about a past I don't recognise. A child holding a glass rose. All the candles we used to burn together. The little flames still flicker now as ghosts. It's different now, because there is peace. And the warmth of a fire so alive steams inside and keeps me strong. And when I hear those silky whispers float and spin from each wall, it's okay.